Last Chance
by frankielouwho
Summary: BETHYL AU. He's spent the past seven years trying to get over her, but even the end of the world can't keep Beth out of his dreams or his thoughts. A twist of fate brings them back together, and Daryl is eighteen all over again. It's his last chance to win her back, and Daryl will do whatever it takes. First loves never last, but he's hoping they're the exception. SMUT.
1. Prologue

**Last Chance**

**by: FrankieLouWho**

**rating: M**

**disclaimer: I do not own anything relating to The Walking Dead.**

**notes: I realize that I have like four stories going right now. I can't promise an update schedule, I can't promise much of anything really. But I'm going to try and keep it all together! Anyway, this story is going to be a romantic journey through an alternate universe of Walking Dead. And it's going to be a wild ride of dramatic, angsty, fluffy, smutty adventure. I hope you guys are ready. Please let me know what you think. Reviews make me update faster!**

_Prologue - July, 2007_

Beth's skin is salty sweet as Daryl's tongue traces over her prominent clavicle. In the darkness of the mid-summer night, the two are hidden amongst the tall grass in the sprawling meadow at the edge of her father's property. The tatty old blanket beneath them smells kind of like barn, but Daryl barely notices with the glowing blonde in his arms, beneath his fingertips, turning her face up for him to kiss. It's one of the rare nights where neither of them are feeling particularly chatty, though not in a bad way. Instead, Beth seems content to let him run his hands up her sides, dragging her shirt along for the ride. She giggles as he presses warm, wet kisses over her taut, golden tummy, and Daryl can't resist the shiver that squirms up his spine as her fingernails scrape against his scalp.

She's really something else, altogether.

The soft noise that hums from her throat as Daryl kisses between her breasts makes him stir in his jeans, and the sight of her breasts - even still covered by her bra - makes his eyelids flutter. Beth is no Victoria's Secret model, but he prefers _her_. Small, perky breasts with the rose-tipped nipples, the ones that are hard before he even touches them. Her responses to his touch are particularly frenzied tonight, and as he pushes one cup down and frees her breast, Beth tangles one hand in his short, choppy brown hair and the other is fisted in the material of his black, sleeveless T-shirt. Daryl loves to tease her, loves making her bow against him and her breathless whimpers. He circles his tongue around her areola, avoiding the pebbled pink pink as long as he can.

"Please, _please_," Beth pants, tossing her head back. He can't help but give in when she asks so nicely. Eyes trained on her face, noting the light dusting of freckles that have cropped up on the bridge of her nose and over her cheekbones, Daryl finally captures her nipple between his lips and uses his teeth to tug gently before salving it with his tongue. She shudders and shivers and it's the most amazing, sexy thing in the world. He's hunched over her, half on his knees but also leaning his weight on his left hand over her shoulder, and he nudges her legs apart and settles the weight of his thigh against the juncture between her legs. Instantly, Beth shifts against the pressure and lets out a squeak of pleasure that has her cheeks flaming crimson and Daryl grinning.

"Ya sure your Daddy ain't gonna come out here with a shotgun?" Daryl asks. Beth gives him a distracted eyeroll before rubbing herself against his denim-clad leg, huffing impatiently. The warmth that radiates through her clothing and his own makes Daryl drop the question and reach behind her to unclasp her bra. He gets it on the first try, one handed, and feels slightly accomplished as the petite blonde shimmies out of the offending article. It's discarded next to her shirt, and Daryl can sense that she's trying not to cover herself up. She's still shy at first, making him dip his mouth in for a sweet, teasing, delicious taste of her lips. Beth responds automatically, allowing him entrance and sliding her tongue against his.

They've been doing this all summer. It's strange - in a perfect, terrifying kind of way. Daryl never thought, not in a million years, that a girl like Beth Greene would give the likes of him, _a Dixon_, the time of day. But she's sprawled beneath him, not for the first time, open and eager to be with him. It's _his_ touch that makes her tingle and tremble, that makes her eyes roll back and her pulse increase. Daryl can feel the physical reaction she has to him, and he knows that she couldn't be lying about that, couldn't fake that. He's too keen of an eye, especially for bullshitters, to believe she wants anything other than to be here with him.

He knows that she's leaving in a few weeks. Five weeks. Five weeks left of this, heartbreakingly sweet moments under the starry night sky. Five more weeks of picking her up in his pickup, riding around the backroads with the windows down and music blasting. Five more weeks of sneaking out - well, Daryl didn't really have to sneak out, as Will Dixon didn't give two fucks about his kid's nightly activities. But sneaking Beth out was different, it added a different kind of dimension to their meetings. Made the stolen time together sweeter. Hotter.

Beth tugging at his shirt pulls Daryl from his thoughts, and she gives him a devillish grin, those smoky blue eyes glowing luminous in the moonlight. He loves when she's playful, when she tries to play aggressive. He lets her pull the shirt over his head, and it joins her pile of discarded clothing. He sucks in a deep, unsteady breath - no one could make him feel so strong and so vulnerable at the same time, no one but Beth. He's still uncertain about the scars on his back, some of them only a few months old, but when her small hands flutter over the marred flesh, a shiver races down his spine and Daryl forgets quickly what he's worrying about. This is _Beth_. These things don't matter to _her_.

He grunts in surprise as her lips find his nipple, and she tugs it with her teeth like he did to her. He's no longer simply stirring in his jeans - he's pressed against his fly, almost painfully. Especially with her licking and kissing all over his bare chest and then downwards, over his stomach...

"Git them shorts off, baby girl," Daryl instructs, and Beth smiles and settles back, hands going to her fly. She hooks her fingers into the waistband and, that of her panties, and Daryl sucks in a greedy breath as she wiggles out of her clothes. The skin that her bikini - a modest, shorts and tankini number in deep blue - covers is pale porcelain, but the rest is golden and warm under his fingers. Beth smells like summertime to him, salty skin, sunscreen, and green apples. Tart, juicy green apples. His mouth always waters around her.

"I want you," Beth breathes and Daryl's fingers dig into her hips. He sits back on his heels, studying her face guardedly while she gazes up at him. Sometimes, the look in those blue eyes - like the sky right before a summer storm - that scares the hell out of him. How he deserves to be on the recieving end of them, Daryl will never understand... But she's so open, so vulnerable and trusting, that it makes his heart clench and he has to taste her skin and feel her shaking beneath him. He dives forward, mouth rough and firm over her's.

Beth gasps as he breaks the kiss, Daryl blazing a trail down her neck and chest, pausing at each of her breasts to give them the proper attention. She's not quite a handful, in the breast department, but the round, firm orbs leave him hard and panting. Girl should never wear a damn bra. Or any clothes, for that matter, he's deciding as he kisses her tummy again and then scoots himself further south. He wiggles onto his stomach, erection pressed almost painfully into the ground as he lifts her hips to grab her ass. Daryl's favorite place in the world is being burried in Beth's pussy, be it his tongue or his fingers or his cock. It simply feels like _home_.

She's completely shaved. He blushes, remembering their conversation in the beginning of all this chaos, when she'd asked him if he wanted her to do that. Daryl didn't care much, one way or the other - the idea of light colored girls at her sex is enough to make him groan, but with his face actually there, he's glad she did. Makes it easier to see what he's doing, and the slick, velvet folds feel heavenly against his face. He dives right in, licking her slit a few times before shouldering her thighs further apart and oepning her to his gaze.

Beth props herself onto her elbows. She likes to watch him. Daryl flicks his eyes up to her face, seeing a small, pleasure-filled smile on her face. Her dimples are showing. Her blue gaze is heavily-lidded, and when Daryl finally grazes her clit, they drop completely shut and her brow furrows, a quiet moan torn from her throat.

"Daryl..." She's pleading and threatening, and Daryl smirks into her pussy before he begins to eat her out in earnest. She loves this, even if it had been hard to get her to go along with it the first time. Thought it would be gross, that he didn't want to do it. But it's his favorite thing, too. Driving her crazy, making her curse under her breath and wiggle and shudder... It's extremely arousing to see sweet little Beth Greene, valedictorian, student body secretary, know-it-all and yet incredibly shy, lose control.

Seeing Beth in all the new ways that he had this year, the time they'd spent together, has done nothing but made Daryl fall even more in love with her. She was always a pretty girl, and Daryl could vividly remember watching her chase across the playground during recess, legs pumping and golden hair streaming as she swung on the set with the other girls. He had known her his entire life, but it wasn't until this last spring that they truly became _friends_. More than just friends, though. Who would have thought?

"Oh - Oh God, Daryl, I'm -" Beth is panting, and he realizes that she's on the edge. Squeezing her ass once more, he frees his hands and one grabs her squirming hip. The other teases her entrance playfully before dipping one finger inside of her. The delicate tissue of her vagina is hot and wet and he groans into her, eyes falling shut as a wave of pleasure washes over him. These physical reactions, the ones that she can't fake, are more erotic to him than anything else in the world. She wants him, she's excited by him. Daryl pumps his finger in and out, then adds another to the mix and Beth is writhing and whispering his name in a quiet little chant. It's all the encouragement _he_ needs. His mouth is frenzied against her clit, and with a gasp, Beth shatters. Her whole body pulls tight and she goes silent, holding her breath, and Daryl loves to watch her face as she exhales and shudders. He can feel the muscles inside of her clenching at his fingers, trying to draw him in further, and Daryl is all but humping the ground in his highly aroused state.

"Fuck, Beth," Daryl murmurs, sitting back. She swipes her hair out of her face and sits up quickly, grabbing the back of his neck. She likes to taste herself on him, some weird primal thing that makes her wild. He can't _not_ smile as she laps at his chin and above his top lip, but it's also sexy as hell and he starts to unbuckle his belt and open his jeans. Beth is eager to help, or at least, she's eager to get her hands on him. Before he can push the jeans and his briefs down, she's bypassing the elastic and wrapping her small, warm, _soft_ hand around his manhood. His breath wheezes out in surprise. They both chuckle at his reaction.

Beth's wide, innocent eyes turn up to meet his. She has told him before that his blue gaze reminds her of sapphires, though sometimes swimming pools. He never knows what to say when she says that kind of stuff, and usually he blushes and kisses her to avoid having to respond. He knows that she's biting back the words as her wrist twists, palm twisting over the head of his cock, making him groan softly and press his forehead against her's.

"I want ya," he whispers, and Beth licks her lips, nodding. He's kicking his pants all the way off, leaving them both naked as the day they were born out in her daddy's meadow on an old, scratchy blanket and the stars and moon overhead. Daryl wonders if Beth thinks its romantic - to him, it is. Not that he would ever say something that stupid out loud. But as he finds the condom he'd stashed in his back pocket, tearing the foil and rolling the rubber over himself, Daryl realizes he'll remember this night forever. It's not their first time, not even close, but she looks so damn beautiful in the silvery moonlight, so happy and free, that he begins to get nervous.

It's like she can read his mind. She cups his cheek, giving him a smile, whispering, "I love you, Daryl Dixon." Instantly, the tension eases out of his shoulders and he ducks his head, shy. They've said this to each other before, but just once, and it makes him feel a mixture of emotions. Pride, disbelief, anxiety, happy, _terrified_. No one has ever loved him before - his mother and Merle did, in their own way. But Beth's way is completely different. It's not required because of blood, it's not some obligation. It's her choice, it's her choice to give herself to him and to open herself up to him. Daryl can't help but feel incredibly lucky.

"Love you too, baby girl." He doesn't realize how husky is voice is, too distracted by the feeling of his cock sliding over her moist lips. Beth stays still, anticipating, and Daryl doesn't disappoint as he guides himself inside of her. She inhales sharply as he thrusts into her, careful but still with a hint of barely contained passion. Daryl pauses, letting them both make noises and adjust to the feeling of him being fully seated inside of her. He's over her, and Beth's hands dig crescents into his shoulders as she begins to wiggle. She's never been very patient with _this_.

He sets a rhythm that is slow and lazy, knowing it would drive her crazy. Beth might be shy and sweet, but whenever they made love... She turned into a little hellcat. Hair-pulling, biting, swearing. Beth loved everything they did together, but Daryl knew that she liked it when he lost control. When his hips beat a punishing tattoo against her, when his fingers left bruises on her hips. She loved when he left love-bites where only _she_ could see. He loves to mark her, too.

"Feels so good," Beth whimpers. Daryl touches his lips to her pulse, feeling it thud fast and hard. She is flushed and feverish in his embrace, her entire body alive and aroused. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."

"Never," Daryl agrees, but he rolls them over so she's straddling his hips and he immediately cups her breasts. Beth doesn't miss a beat, picking up the pace and biting her lip. One day, she's gonna chew right through it, but Daryl doesn't comment as he watches her face contort with pleasure and concentration. When he reaches between them, thumbing her clit easily, she shoots him a lusty look that smolders. That sinful, erotic look that reminds him just how beautiful and sexy and thrilling this girl is. This girl that he _loves_. He's not going to last long with her bouncing on top of him, especially when her hands plant on his chest to use him as leverage.

He rubs her pussy frantically as she rides him. When she shivers, goosebumps rippling over her golden skin, Daryl moans. He opens his mouth to warn her that he's fixin' to go, she beats him. She drags in a raspy breath, stiffening, bowing and arching, and Daryl feels himself hold his breath as he watches her come undone. She is exquisite, flushed and chanting his name revrently, like a prayer. Feeling her flutter around his dick is all Daryl needs. His balls tighten and he pumps his hips up into her as he releases - both his seed and a cracked, shaky "_Fuck._"

Beth collapses on top of him, her head tucked neatly under his chin as they catch their breath. Daryl strokes her back, pets a hand over her golden, silky hair. He thinks that life is never going to get better than this, because it simply can't. He's eighteen, which is young to hit such a peak. But this is Beth Greene, and she's the girl that he loves. The only girl he's ever loved, and probably ever will. She's leaving in five weeks. The idea of doing life, the day to day, without her presence at the end of the evening... He pushes the thoughts away as she kisses above his thudding heart.

"That was amazing," Beth whispers. "You make me feel so alive, Daryl. Like I can do anything."

Daryl was silent, caressing her. He didn't know what to tell her, was lost for words yet again. But Beth never minded, never got upset. Instead, she sighed contentedly and curled into his chest. He knew and understood wanting to feel as close to each other as possible. It was an ache he dealt with whenever they were apart. Part of him suspected that he would always feel that way...

_Present - May, 2014_

Daryl jerks awake with a start. They're camped out on the highway, having lost Sophia earlier in the day. He didn't mean to doze off, but Dale is on top of the RV and Carol's sobs have finally given way to silence, sleep claiming her. Rubbing a weary hand over his eyes, Daryl sits up in the back of his old gray pickup, motorcycle on his side. The gate is down and his legs are half-asleep from dangling over the edge. He pats his chest, finding the pack of smokes in his breast pocket easily. Shakes one out, presses it between his lips. He lights it and exhales, squinting into the darkness.

He hasn't thought of Beth at all today. Too much going on. The herd that passed through, then the little girl running off into the woods. He and Rick going to find her, tracking her prints... Doesn't make sense, but the little girl wasn't like him. Didn't know her way around the thick forest. She was young, scared. Sheltered. He shook his head, angry at himself for not finding her easily. It's not his fault, but Daryl can't help but feel guilty every time he thinks of Carol's face when she realized what was happening.

Absently, Daryl thinks about the fact that they aren't far from home. Where he grew up - where _they_ grew up. Wasn't like she lived in Georgia anymore. Big star like her, with her face on Tabloid magazines and Grammies on her mantle. Beth Greene. Pop-star. Millionaire. No one would believe him, if he were to say that she had been his first, and he was her's. Doesn't matter, though. It's just another piece of his past that he does not talk about, not that he talks about much anyway.

The fact that he's dreaming about her, it's not surprising. Seven years is a long time, but Daryl can remember everything like it happened just yesterday. Green apples and moonlight, soft skin and warm lips. It hurts sometimes, remembering what they had. But it also reminds him that he's capable of love, that even if _she_ has stopped - he still loves her. And, once upon a time, she _did_ love him. He knew it.

Daryl stood up, legs still pins and needles, and stretches. His mind drifts, thinking of blue-velvet eyes and golden blonde curls. First loves always end, Daryl reminds himself. He's the freak for not moving on.


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter One - Past - September, 1995_

The first time that Daryl Dixon ever saw Bethany Greene, it was on the playground of their old grade school, Whitewater Elementary. The first day of first grade. Daryl had been extremely nervous as he waited for the big yellow school bus to round the corner at the stop for the trailer park. All of the neighbor kids were there, waiting - some of their moms were there, too, with cameras to snap pictures. Daryl's mom was still passed out on the couch, half-empty bottle of gin on the carpet beside her left hand, where it dangled down. He'd woken himself up at seven-thirty, crawled out of bed to find that Merle hadn't come home the night before. His father was snoring from the back bedroom, and his mother was on the couch. Daryl had tip-toed into the kitchen, poured himself a bowl of cereal. Had to add water, not milk, because they were out - but that wasn't out of the ordinary. He was glad that Mom had at least remembered to wash his school clothes. Daryl dressed himself, brushed his teeth, and gathered the new backpack his mom bought for the occasion. It was just a plain green Jansport, but it meant that he was going to _school_. It was special.

The bus ride was long. The trailer park was a ways out from the school, and it was the first stop - it picked up kids as it weaved its way back into town. He sat by himself, hugging the window and watching the familiar countryside and woods fly past. When they finally pulled into the school parking lot and the doors opened, Daryl darted out before anyone else could, practically running down the steps and out into the warm morning sunlight. He was in Mrs. Miller's room. He found the class easily, it was number three. Daryl had known his numbers forever - Merle taught him. He could count as high as he wanted. All the way up to _infinity_.

There were a lot of kids. Daryl knew one other boy in his class, who also lived in the trailer park. They weren't really friends, but Daryl found the other boy watching him throughout class. Probably wondering about what happened a few nights ago, when Mom and Pop got into a fight out in the yard. The yelling, crash of dishes and ashtrays being thrown, broken bottles. Daryl had blushed and stared at his hands splayed on his desk as the teacher spoke. He was already beginning to dislike this whole _school_ thing.

But then there was lunch. And Daryl had free lunch. He went through the line, marveling at the different selections. He got a piece of pizza, carrot sticks, applesauce, and a chocolate milk. Sitting on the first graders' side of the cafeteria, surrounded by people but not speaking to anyone, he took his time eating. It wasn't often that he got to pick what he ate, and it wasn't often that he left the table feeling _full_. In fact, his stomach felt uncomfortably bloated as he followed the other kids out to the playground for recess. It was weird, but he found a smile on his face as he stepped outside.

The playground is huge. A blacktop with basketball hoops, swings, slides, monkey bars. Daryl didn't even know where to begin - he found a few of the kids he knew from his neighborhood, followed them around as they moved from the slides, then the monkey bars, and then the swings. Daryl can tell the other boys want to swing, but the few sets have been taken over by girls. And there is nothing worse than _girls_. They giggle, they're loud, they're annoying, and they talk far too much. Daryl's never really liked any of the girls he's known before, except for an older girl in the park named Maddie that listened to Nirvana and smoked cigarettes. Whenever Daryl thought of her, her glossy pink lips wrapped around the cigarette butt, the way she'd pout her lips into a little 'o' as she exhaled... It made his stomach clench in a funny way. He blushes when he things about it.

"Boys aren't _allowed_ on the swings!" One of the girls sticks her tongue out as she swings back and forth, her scrawny legs pumping. Beside her, there is a small girl with massive blue eyes and long blonde hair that reminds Daryl of wheat fields. Golden, light curls that fly behind her like a streamer as she swings. She's wearing a white dress and little white Kids, perfectly clean and unscuffed. Her knuckles clench the chain tighter as they hold eye contact. Daryl hunches his shoulders and looks away, feeling his ears warm up.

"Oh yeah? Says who?" Billy is one of the bullies that run the trailer park. He threatened Daryl only one time - Merle was within earshot, and as much as his big brother believed in letting him fight his own battles, he grabbed the ginger, freckled boy by the collar of his shirt and threatened to do some rather graphic things if he _fucked with his brother again_. Sometimes, Merle wasn't such a bad guy. _Sometimes_.

The girl that stuck her tongue out leaps from her seat on the up-swing, landing neatly and placing her hands on her hips. She cocks her head to the side, sizing Billy up, and stomps over to him. She's all puffed up, red-cheeked and glaring. She's got long brown hair tied back in a neat braid. The blonde girl on the swing drags her feet to stop, biting her lip anxiously. Daryl can't take his eyes off of her. It's weird, and he can feel how weird he's being, but there is something about her that makes it hard to look away. Her skin is summer-tan golden, and he thinks he can make out freckles on her cheeks and nose. On one of her knees, she wears a Hello Kitty bandaid. What happened to her?

For some reason, Daryl's mind instantly flashes to the last time his dad whipped him. Wonders if maybe that's why she has a bandaid.

"Says _me_," the other girl says. She tips her chin up, giving him a defiant look. Billy rolls his eyes and puts his hands on her chest, shoving her back. He doesn't care if she's a girl, that's just the kind of kid he is. Daryl hates him even _more_ in that moment, because boys aren't supposed to touch girls at all. Ever. It's a rule - even if his dad sometimes slaps his mom around, Daryl knows that it's wrong. The blonde girl darts from her swing, helping the brunette up off the grass playground.

"Are you ok?" She rubs her friend's shoulders, and Daryl can only watch as Billy sneers down at them both.

"She's fine. Just a _baby_," Billy says. He kicks up dirt at them, and the other boys laugh. Daryl doesn't - he glares at the boys he knows, the ones that he's played with on the long, hot summer afternoons. Playing catch, tag, baseball, sometimes getting to go down to the creek and swim. "Stupid little babies!" Billy squats and picks up a few pebbles and begins to pelt both of the girls. Seeing the blonde, with those blue eyes that were like the summer sky when it was absolutely cloudless, when it seemed _endless_, seeing her look _scared_ - Daryl isn't sure why, or how - but one moment he's standing there glaring, the next he's straddling Billy's chest and his hand aches as he relentlessly smashes it into his face. Blood trickles down the redhead's face, down from his nose and over his lips. It's smeared on Daryl's knuckles. Billy's T-shirt is clenched tightly in his fist.

The only thing that stops him is a small hand catching his wrist, and he's thrown off-guard. Glancing wildly over his shoulder, Daryl finds the small blonde holding him, stopping him. She just shakes her head, her mouth opening a few times before she finally says, "It's not worth it. Go wash up in the bathroom, so you can't get in trouble. Go on." She tugs his arm and Daryl stands. His longs ache from breathing so hard, and he feels jittery, hands shaking. Billy is whining, and the blonde shoots him a cutting look. "He won't be telling on you," she adds.

Daryl nods, but can't move because she's standing there looking at him. He's six years old, but there's something in his brain that is simply different than other people. He's too observant, too intense. "Stop staring" is a phrase he hears often from all of his family. He knows this, his brother and his father tell him all the time. That he's _different_. He wonders if she can see it in him, if that's why she's studying him.

"I'm Beth Greene," she says finally, and Daryl's world narrows until it's just her standing in front of him in that white dress, hair blowing in the wind. The dimples in her cheeks when she smiles makes him want to cup her face. But he doesn't, he doesn't touch people - that way, they were less likely to touch _him_. He can't even open his mouth to reply, because the whistle is sounding, ending their play time. They have to go back to class.

"See ya around!" Beth says, waving over her shoulder as she runs like the other kids to get in line to file back into the school. Daryl is stuck to the spot.

_Beth Greene_. He'd never forget that name.

_Present - May, 2014_

Beth bit her lip as she paced the porch anxiously. It was hot, and she lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. Things had been going well, for a while - well, as good as can be expected considering the circumstances. They hadn't run into any infected people in a while. Seeing them, their eyes clouded over white and seeming to decay right before her eyes... Lost and sick, out of their minds. It made Beth's heart ache. She couldn't wait until the government finally swooped in with their super drug. It's been a while, though. She tries not to lose hope, but the past few months have been bleak. No communication from _anywhere_.

She is lucky to be surrounded by her family. Lucky that she decided to take a break when she did. She had waffled about it for a while, but Beth's tour ended and she had some time before she needed to get back into the studio. She needed down time, relaxation - coming back to Georgia, going home. Getting back to her roots. Beth had been excited and anxious the entire flight, re-reading the same paragraph of some Rolling Stone article four times before she finally gave up and stared out the window.

Would she ever fly again? Beth is beginning to find that unlikely.

To make matters worse, a little boy had been shot. Otis regularly ventured out into the dense woods that boardered her families' property, hunting for whatever he could find. Rabbits, deer, the occasional squirrel. Those were fortunately few and far between. It was a regular day, rising early to take care of the animals and get breakfast around. Maggie and Beth often rose together to do it together - chores went by faster if they worked together. While they cooked in the kitchen, frying up bacon and eggs and making fluffy pancakes, it was like a choreagraphed dance. They moved seamlessly, almost anticipating the other's next intention. It was the same that morning, and the afternoon Beth had spent curled up in the window seat in her bedroom, reading _Pride and Prejudice_ for the millionth time. She wishes now that she had gone to the library sooner. She's tired of the same books, though the familiarity is comforting at times. In a world where sick people were attacking each other, dropping like flies, the country overrun with this devestating virus... Sometimes, the fact that Lizzie and Mr. Darcy found their way to each other every time, no matter what, made Beth feel better.

The commotion below her window had startled her from the worn pages. There was a man, carrying something, screaming and running through the fields. Otis was behind him, and another man. Beth could make out dark hair and as they grew closer, she could see that the first man was carrying a person. A child. Beth chucked the book, page lost and forgotten, before flying down the stairs. She tore the screen door open, her father a step behind her, with wide, shocked eyes.

Now, her father was operating. Patricia is in there, doing what she can to help. Daddy is a veternarian, the best hands for animals in the county. Beth is worried about how different it is to work on a person, versus an animal. She bites her lip and shakes the thought from her head. She's worried about the child, bleeding on the big white bed, unconcious and pale. It was an accident - Otis had a deer in his sights, but the bullet hit the little boy. Carl, his father says.

Watching the scene made tears spring to her eyes, and Beth had to step outside for some fresh air and to calm herself. Hershel had directed her to, seeing the look on her pale face. "Go on, Bethy. We've got this, honey." She follows his command because he's her daddy, regardless of her age. She always obeys him.

The other reason for her worry, however, is her big sister. Maggie has always been headstrong, confident. When her mind is made up, there's no changing it - and she had decided that it was her job to retrieve the boys mother out in the woods. Beth knew her sister was more than capable of handling herself. Maggie was a beautiful force of nature, strong and tough in ways that Beth could only envy. She never questions herself - Beth wishes that she were that way. Watching Maggie's back as she rode Ace out towards the direction the man had come from, Beth sent a silent prayer to the Lord. _Please let her come back. Safe._

Otis and the other man (_Shane_, Beth remembers) have gone to the school to get medical supplies. It's where the Red Cross was set up. Before they were overrun, too. With a sigh, Beth flops to one of the steps leading up to the large porch. She hugs her arms around her shins, folding into the smallest shape she can take. Being small, taking up as little room as possible, makes her feel better. Like she won't be noticed, won't get in the way. She sits there until she sees Maggie coming back, no longer alone on the horse. With relief easing out of her tense shoulders, Beth lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She stands and waits for her sister. Waits to see what she says, how she acts. It's something she's had practice doing all her life. It's natural as breathing to her.

They find the farm easily. The rag-tag caravan rambles down the dusty road, Daryl leading the way on his bike. It's morning, bright and sunny, and the group seems relieved to find a spot to stay for more than a night. Everyone except for Daryl, because as soon as the massive white farmhouse looms up in the distance, he realizes where they're going. Hadn't seen the girl on the horse, but Glenn claims she has short dark hair and for a moment, Daryl is relieved and disappointed. Part of him had hoped the woman would be Beth, but part of him was glad.

His relief is short-lived, of course. In the morning when they reach their destination, it's obvious to him that the girl on the horse was Maggie Greene. He's at his ex-girlfriend's family house, it's the end of the fucking world, and he's only got two cigarettes. Daryl is not thrilled.

She's probably not there, he tells himself as he pulls into the grassy yard. The big trees out front cast wide shadows, enough shade for him to stand in for a moment as he gathers his bearings. This was the yard he and Beth had made love in, had fallen in love in. Everywhere he looks, Daryl seems to find a memory. Automatically, his eyes flick up to the second story window. He remembers scaling the railing on the porch, nearly ripping down the eavestrough as he climbed up onto the roof of the porch. It was perfect, actually - Maggie's window was right there too, but Maggie did enough of her own sneaking out to rat on them. He remembers the first time he kissed Beth, both of them on the black shingles in the darkness. Daryl lets out a long, slow breath. This is _weird_.

Lori is the first to greet them, racing out onto the porch with concern lining her face. She's pretty, in a plain kind of way. Long dark hair, big eyes and pale skin. She was slender, bordering on painfully thin, but she was a good mom. Loved her kid. Regardless of what is going on between her and Shane. Or what _had_ been going on... Ever since Rick got there, things have been different. Daryl can feel the shift in the group, turning towards Rick instead of Shane. Guy knows it, too. Been acting uneasy. Shifty. Unpredictable.

Daryl Dixon doesn't like unpredictable.

"Carl's fine," Lori is telling Carol, holding the woman in a tight hug before releasing her at an arm's length. "Sophia? Did you find her?"

"Not yet," Daryl says, quick. Carol shoots him an appreciative look and he glances to the ground, feeling his ears heat up. Hates that he can't control the blush that always seems to pop up at the worst possible time, making things _more_ uncomfortable. Even when he hadn't thought it was possible.

"We will," Lori says, gazing into Carol's sad face. "We'll find her."

Daryl leaves them to talk, knowing that he has no part in this conversation. What'd they have to say to him, anyway? Only reason these people kept him around is because he can hunt, because he can keep their bellies full and he knows what he's doing out in the woods. Off the grid. How he spent a lot of his life. The group is beginning to set up camp, having learned that they're allowed to stay until Carl is good enough to leave. Daryl feels sick to his stomach, thinking about that poor kid layin' up in bed, shoulder tore up from some stray bullet. It's a freak accident, coulda happened to anyone, even before all this. But Carl is a good kid, precocious and maybe a little too confident. Maybe this bullet will teach him to stick closer, listen better.

Glenn is putting up his tent, and T-Dog is putting up the one for Carol. They're taking care of each other, oddly enough - this group has grown close in the time they'd spent together. Daryl hazarded it had been a few months, but one couldn't be certain. He had never tried to keep track of the days. Seems like they blurred together now - he was up for days straight sometimes, too worried about their safety, about their hunger, to let himself sleep.

He's thinking about taking off for a few hours, heading into the woods to find something to eat, but Rick's gathering them around. Those of them left - Dale, Andrea, Glenn, T-Dog, Carol, Lori, Shane, himself - stand in a group around the front porch, where Daryl is pointedly _not_ thinking about the time he took Beth to prom. The fucking _prom_. Showing up in his pickup, in a tuxedo that he'd scrimped to rent, he'd felt ridiculous. Beth's glowing smile had made it better.

"Now, Hershel's gonna let us stay here. He's a good man, and we're going to respect his wishes. He wants us to turn over our guns, and that's fine. We're safe here," Rick is saying. Daryl can read the exhaustion on his face, looking pale and drawn. Idly, Daryl wonders if they had to do a transfusion, if that's why Rick is leaning so heavily against the post. The man has done nothing but worry since he found his family, and Daryl is surprised to feel a shred of respect for the guy. Rick isn't bad, he's just got a savior complex. Trying so hard to keep them together, keep them surviving. Daryl certainly does not envy _that_.

"What about my bow?" Daryl asks, his voice gruff like usual.

"That's fine," Rick says, bobbing his head once in ascent. "Hunting purposes. He'll understand that." It's agreed that whoever is on watch has the shotgun, which makes sense. From what Daryl knows of Hershel Greene, he has always been a very understanding man. Kind, maybe in a tough-love kind of way, but he was never anything to Daryl but polite and welcoming. Well, perhaps not at first. But Daryl has never been good at first impressions, and over time it seemed to get better.

As the group disperses to continue their set up, Daryl finds himself itching to enter the house. Wonders if it's the same as last time he saw it. His heart stutters before racing as he takes a hesitant step towards the front porch. But before he can stop himself, before his brain even registers the body's movement, he's taking the stairs and crossing the white-washed floorboards. The screen door squeaks slightly as he enters. Glancing around, he's memories wash over him. The delicate, antique furniture, tiffany lamps, the wallpaper. Photographs everywhere. The piano, the fireplace. It's all in it's spot, just as he'd left it last. Daryl glances around, finding no one around. He knows that he shouldn't, but he can't help himself.

He starts up the stairs.

The same photographs line the wall, the family grinning down at him. Theres only a few posed, professional pictures, as well as school yearbook pictures. But mainly they are candid, family vacations, random shots of the girls and Shawn growing up. Beth is usually in the center, looking small and young. His favorite has always been the one where she's holding up a big cat-fish, grinning proudly. She's eleven in the picture, he remembers her telling him. His fingers actually tremble as they skim over the railing, and he turns at the top of the stairs and his feet cross the old runner rug covering the hardwood floors until he's standing outside of her bedroom.

The door is closed over, but he pushes it open before slipping in. He's glad that no one has noticed him sneaking around, as he didn't know what he would say if Hershel, Maggie, Annette or Shawn confronted him. Babble like an idiot, turn purple out of embarrassment, and runaway. What else could he do in the situation?

He takes a deep breath. It _reeks_ of Beth in here, vanilla and sugar and green apple. Daryl stands stock still, eyes closed, as he inhales. It's almost too much, almost too overwhelming. The ache in his chest is usually a constant, dull with every beat, always there. But now... It feels like he's being stabbed. He gulps nervously as he cracks open his eyes.

He isn't sure why he was expecting it to look different, but it's the exact same. Her iron-framed double bed, old colorful quilt spread across it. White wicker chair next to her bookshelf. Closet door closed, but still with that poster of the Beatles on it. The edges curl inward but it's still there. Maybe a bit faded. Daryl shuffles over to her dresser, jewelry box open and spilling out ropes of pearls and a few slender golden chains. He wonders if she still wears the necklace he gave her when they were in high school. When she was _his_.

He doesn't touch anything, just looks. It's hard to keep his hands to himself, especially with the top drawer peeking open and giving him a little glimpse of bright lace and silk. With one finger, Daryl nudges it shut so the clothing doesn't tempt him to explore further. The bed is made. Nothing looks out of place... Except for the paperback on the floor beside her window seat. Frowning, Daryl stoops down and snags it from the floor. A half-grin on his face as he reads the title, remembers how they were reading that in English class when his whole world changed. When Hurricane Beth came in and spun him out of control.

_Pride and Prejudice._ Daryl rubs his thumb over the raised lettering of the title, and his breath hitches. He will not cry. He will not let this affect him. It's been seven fucking years, seven long years and he will not let this get to him. It's not like she's here. She's a fucking _star_, a musician, why the hell would she be in Whitewater? She's probably holed up in some fancy apartment with her new fancy, handsome, rich boyfriend drinking champagne and absolutely fine. Or, maybe she was a walker. Who the fuck knew - both scenerios made his gut drop with dread.

He's so distracted by his thoughts that he doesn't hear or notice the door swing open. His eyes are fixed on the book, but he isn't really even seeing it. Just imagining her, his Beth, what she's like at twenty four and what her life is like now. She left, and he never saw her again. She's been gone for a long time. She's moved on with her life. Daryl has to tell himself this over and over again, because it's the only way to get out of his head. To get the doubts and regret out of his mind. It's not easy, but if he repeats it all enough eventually the knot in his chest releases a bit and he can breathe easier, without the threat of tears behind his ears.

_Fuck her_. Daryl doesn't mean it, but it gets him through the moment. He closes his eyes, setting the book down.

He doesn't notice the petite figure, gaping at him from the doorway. Her hand is on the doorknob still, gazing at him with her mouth hanging open and her eyes big, shocked. Daryl glances up, realizes he's been up here too long - shouldn't have been up here at all - when he turns to the door and sees her.

Sees. _Her_.

"D-Daryl?" her voice asks. She stutters. She looks like she's seeing a ghost.

Daryl is certain that his face mirrors her surprise. "Beth." It's a whisper, and it's the first time he's spoken that name in a very long time. He can't think about it long, however, as she blinks once and then her eyes roll up in the back of her head, reminding him of the old black and white cartoons from when his _father_ was a kid. She drops to the floor, crumpling, and for the briefest moment Daryl is frozen, staring at her.

It's the worst thing that could have happened, yet the only thing that Daryl really ever wished for. As he hurries to her side, cradling her head in his big hands, he gazes at her, still not sure that she's real and present in front of him. Stroking the golden strands back from her face, Daryl sucks in an unsteady breath. There is only one word echoing over and over in his mind.

_Beth..._

* * *

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in relation to the Walking Dead. Seriously.**

**Notes: So, I hope you guys are still with me. I'm sorry for the delays to my other stories, but the muse has taken over. Seriously, I cannot stop writing this fic, and the response to it is so overwhelmingly positive that I love it. Thank you everyone! Also, HUGE THANK YOU to francescadb on TUMBLR for making the cover for my photo. I'm in love with it. So thank you sweetie :]**

**Leave me love! Please and thank you!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Last Chance**

**by: FrankieLouWho**

**Rating: M**

**Disclaimer: I do not own. Promise. No matter how much I wish I did, so I could just release the last eight episodes...**

**Author Notes: So, this is a little bit shorter. I've been hella busy, with work and life and friends and no one is respecting my need to write and not always hang out... So I apologize. I hope this update is good for you all, I'm enjoying this story immensely. Thank you to Fransesca over on TUMBLR for making my cover photo - isn't it lovely?! Anyway, give me a follow if you haven't already - I'm idreamoffrankie over there. **

**SO, on with the chapter!**

_Chapter Two - Past - February, 1997_

In third grade, Daryl's Mom dies. Beth hears about it from her big sister, who tells her in gory detail about the woman falling asleep, drunk, with a burning cigarette. Their house is messed up, melted and black on one side, but they still live here. Beth can't identify the feeling that sweeps over her, making her cry when she thinks about it. About him. She doesn't know what she would do if she lost her parents, and to think that he _did_, and that he has to go to school every day and do his homework and eat his lunch and go through every day like he's fine - her heart aches and she decides that she's going to make him the biggest, best Valentine she can and give him a whole bag of Hershey kisses.

When the day comes, all of their "mailboxes" (they're really just old shoe-boxes, decorated with construction paper and glitter and markers, with a slot cut in the top for the Valentine's to go in) on their desks, Beth is shaking with anticipation. Everyone is going around, dropping the folded pieces of paper with superheroes and Spice Girls and Bugs Bunny into their designated mailboxes. Beth has Hello Kitty for everyone else, but she hand-made Daryl's.

It's probably stupid and girly, but she doesn't care. He sits at his desk, hunched over a Goosebumps book, while everyone else talks and laughs and eats candy and teases one another. Daryl isn't like the other kids in school - Beth's known that since first grade. The first day of first grade. When he beat up that boy for throwing rocks at her and Samantha.

He's quiet. He wears the same clothes until the holes are too big and they're barely hanging together by a thread. His hair is always messy, and sometimes he has bruises on his arms and neck. Beth gets the feeling that things in his house must be very different than things in her house, and she gets scared when she thinks about it. She doesn't know why.

She hands out all of her Valentine's before she slowly sneaks up to Daryl's desk. He clutches at his book, pretending not to notice her, until she plops the bag of Hershey kisses on his desk, and then the Valentine. It's just a red heart, cut out of construction paper, but she worked really hard to write in pretty cursive, which they've just learned. His name was fun to write, she liked making the letters loop together, especially the way the 'Y' flowed into the 'L.'

His eyes flick up from the book. He examines her through squinted, piercing blue eyes that remind her of blue-raspberry slushees. The look pins her to the spot, and she feels heat creep up her neck and into her face. He doesn't say anything, and Beth mentally stutters over a thousand different things before she finally says, "I really wanted you to be my Valentine. I didn't know how to ask. But here." She slides the candy and the card closer to him.

Daryl doesn't say anything, but looks at what she's offering him.

Before she can stop herself, Beth stammers out, "I'm really sorry about your mama."

Daryl licks his lips slowly and stares at her. She doesn't know if she's said something wrong, because his eyes narrow. Beth chooses to quickly turn and bolt back to her desk, slipping into her seat and scooting close to her desk. She doesn't look around, but focuses on the math problems they have for homework. For some reason, Beth feels hot tears prick at her eyes - she doesn't know the emotion in that moment, but years later she recalls the humiliation and sadness she felt. Her shoulders were heavy with the weight of it all.

Daryl waits until he can see Beth sitting at her desk, picking up her pencil and head bent over the paperwork they have assigned. He shifts his gaze around, making sure none of the other kids are paying attenion, that they didn't notice Beth giving him the Valentine or the candy. Satisfied to find the rest of the kids being loud and hardly paying attention to _him_, Daryl quickly grabs the red construction paper and the bag of silver-foiled Hershey Kisses. Trying to be casual, he opens the heart-shaped construction paper, which turns out to be a _heart._ His cheeks flame in embarrassment but he studies the neat, girly handwriting.

_'Happy Valentine's Day, Daryl. XoXo, Beth.' _

He re-reads it three times before slamming it shut and sliding it into his worn backpack. Daryl has never recieved a Valentine's before, and doesn't know how to feel. He's happy, because Beth Greene is the prettiest girl in the entire school, and the nicest too. He's paid attention to her the past few years, watching her on the playground, studying her whenever she's called on in class to answer or go to the whiteboard. His favorite though is when she's asked to read aloud from the chapter books they've been reading all year. Her high, light voice is one part sweet, one part drawl, and he cannot focus on the words when she speaks. It's just that lilting tone that makes him feel warm inside.

She was the first person to say something about his mama, too.

Sucking in a slow breath, Daryl props up the Goosebumps book and pretends to read as he considers this. The teachers, all the grown ups he knows, have said something about what happened. Daryl doesn't like to think about it, tries not to. Sometimes, he dreams about her - always smiling at him, with her arms open for him. It makes breathing kind of hard when he wakes up and realizes he'll never get to touch her again.

He wasn't _mad_ that Beth brought it up. If it had been anyone else... Daryl's fists bunch up as he entertains that thought. But the anger is short-lived, because it wasn't anyone else, it was _Beth_, and he knows that she is genuinely sad for him. That's just the kind of person she is. And Daryl likes that, a lot. She cares for everyone, is always the first to give a consoling hug, or a big smile. He doesn't think she has a mean bone in her body. It's a weird concept, someone being so absolutely _kind_ and _sweet_.

Daryl snatches a piece of chocolate out of the bag, unwraps it fast, and pops it in his mouth. He doesn't sink his teeth into the sweet treat, however. Instead, he holds it on his tongue and lets it melt, savoring it. He knows that it's better to prolong the good things - they always end, far too fast.

_Present - May, 2014_

When Beth awakens, she jerks. It's jarring, and she's sitting upright so quickly the room spins. There's a hand on her shoulder, warm and big, and she snaps her head to the left to find Daryl Dixon sitting there, worried blue eyes trained on her face. For a moment, she wonders if she's still unconcious, but the sound of her heart pulsing in her ears and the smell of sweat and woods is surrounding her. It's too real. _He's _too real.

"Ya all right?" he asks, and just the sound of that gravelly, deep voice makes her skin tingle. It's grown richer with age. Beth knows that she needs to speak, but she can't form anything coherent. Her wide, sky-blue eyes take him in, raking from head to toe. His hair is short, choppy and disheveled like she remembers, though there is darker stubble on his face. He's wearing clothes that look like they are _far_ past their intended use, threadbare and holey. That's nothing different, she muses. Daryl's always been one to wear the hell out of his clothing...

His arms are massive, the muscles toned and bulging. Sleeveless button-down, stained beyond hope to decipher what color it _had_ been. Daryl has always had a nice build, wide shoulders and narrow hips, but in the years since Beth has last laid eyes on him, he's gotten bigger. Looks like a _man_, now. It's astonishing, and Beth can't help but wonder what else has changed about him. A throb of longing shoots through her, and she bites her lip. She's been wondering about him lately, but seeing him here is completely beyond her wildest dreams.

Of course, if anyone was built to survive this apocolypse, it's Daryl Dixon. He'd always been able to take care of himself. Beth remembers hearing the story about when he was lost in the woods for a week or more, how he'd come home and went in the kitchen and made himself a sandwich, like it was no big deal. The saddest part was that no one even said anything, didn't notice.

Taking a deep breath, Beth tries to get her thoughts back on track. The room isn't spinning anymore, and she realizes that she's been openly staring at him, without speaking. Feeling her cheeks turn pink, she mutters, "Yeah, fine," and glances at Daryl's hand on her shoulder. Instantly, he drops it, and she's surprised to find him blushing as well.

_Same Daryl_.

The fond thought is quick before Beth realizes that she's sitting with Daryl. Everything comes rushing back over her like a wave - their last conversation, the last time she saw him. And then instead of thinking about his messed-up childhood and his survival abilities, she's thinking of the pain and anger she has bottled up inside, all the years of wondering and wanting. The rejection. _Heartbreak_. Suddenly, she feels tears stinging her eyes and her vision swims.

Beth scoots off the bed quickly, almost jumping to her feet. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you," she says, but her tone is anything but warm. "You should probably get out of my bedroom."

For a few beats, Daryl just stares at her, like she's grown another head. Beth doesn't think he's heard her sound so firm before. Well, it's time he realized that she's not some dumb kid anymore, some lust-struck (_love_, her heart insists) teenager ready to tear his clothes off and fall back into his arms. They're done. Over. _Ancient_ history. Not to mention, there's more important things at hand right now - the kid her father was working on downstairs, Otis and that other man, Shane, going out to get medical supplies. The rest of Rick's group down below...

Daryl stands slowly, and Beth tries - or at least _pretends_ - not to notice how tall his is now. Somehow, he kept on growing, and her head barely comes up to his shoulder anymore. He's turned into a big, strong, handsome man, and she feels small and dainty in comparison. His right hand reaches to clench at the strap of his crossbox, knuckles turning white beneath the dirt and grime on his hands.

Before he steps out of her room, Daryl pauses. There's a moment between them, as their eyes lock. Beth's eyes are like a dark, stormy sea and Daryl's are the light crystal of a swimming pool, and she can feel it. The tightness in her chest, blood rushing through her veins. Smelling him, seeing him, hearing his voice again - she realizes as heat pools low in her pelvis that she is most definitely still attracted to him. Her body is practically screaming at her for not reaching out to cup his tanned, stubbled cheek, but she's strong. She balls her fists at her sides and straightens her spine, lifting her chin and gazing at him defiantly.

She won't let him see how much he has hurt her.

He opens his mouth as though to speak, but closes it with a snap and stalks out of her bedroom. She waits until she hears this footsteps at the bottom of the stairs, then the slam of the screen door behind him. Exhaling heavily, so that her shoulders sagged, Beth leans against the door handle and raised a hand to her chest. She could feel the quick, urgent beating of her heart beneath her flesh. She was trembling.

Beth composes herself, and heads downstairs. There are more people outside, the rest of the group, and the boy's father is addressing everyone. He must be their leader, she thinks, but doesn't stick around to listen. Instead, she trudges out the back door and wanders out to the stone chimney at the edge of their property. She and Daryl used to hide out there, making out. He'd press her up against the stone, kiss her until the stars in the sky swam and swirled, until her toes curled up in her shoes and she was moaning into his mouth. The heat from earlier throbs low in her belly, a reminder that he's here, that she's going to have to _deal_ with him. Honestly, Beth has no idea what do to.

Part of her wants to kiss him hard, press her body flush against the lean muscle beneath his clothing, feel every inch of his hard body with her own. Another part of her wants to beat him senseless.

As the sun sets, Beth thinks about it all. By the time she's walking back up to the house, the sky turning deep velvety blue, she hasn't figured anything out. A headache is blooming between her temples, and she's tired. Hoping she can beg off any dish-washing chores, Beth climbs up the back steps and enters the kitchen, where she finds Maggie and Patricia embracing in front of the sink. Immediately, she's on alert.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Beth asks, her voice higher than normal in panic.

Maggie looks up from the curly-haired woman, and tears track down her pale cheeks. The sad, defeated look in her green eyes makes Beth's feel weak and she holds herself up against the counter, but just barely. She knows this look, she knows the pain in her sister's eyes - it's too familiar these days.

"It's - it's Otis," Maggie chokes out. "He didn't make it back."

Sadness sweeps over her. For a second time that day, shock rocks Beth to her very core. A strangled sob leaves her throat before she's wrapped up in her sister and Patricia's arms. They hold each other as they grieve, no words to define the pain in each of their hearts.

_**Hey guys. Thank you so much for all of the lovely reviews, favorites, and follows. My heart is literally bursting at the seems with so much happiness and love. I've never had so much interest in a story I'm writing, any of them, and it feels so good to know that you're enjoying what I'm putting out there. I'm trying really hard to make each of these chapters better than the last, but sometimes you have to have some angst and drama to get to the goods. I'm hoping to keep this story going for a while, I'm having a lot of fun writing the flashback scenes (in all honesty, they're easier to write than the scenes in present). If you have any flashback scenes you'd like to see, let me know - I know how this is going to end and I have all of the big plot points planned, but I'm open to suggestion on any cute little Daryl/Beth moments you guys might like to see.**_

_**Anyway, thank you again for everything guys. From Francesca making the cover photo to every single reviewer that has taken time to say something nice about what I'm making. I seriously have mad love for every one of you. Thank you, THANK YOU!**_


	4. Chapter 3

**Last Chance**

**by: FrankieLouWho**

**disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Walking Dead. OBVIOUSLY.**

**notes: sorry this has taken so long! if you follow me on tumblr, you might have seen that I've had a really heinous case of writer's block lately. this came to me at a random time, and I simply wrote it all out as fast as I could. I hope you guys enjoy it! Sorry for the lack of "present" Daryl, but he hasn't wanted to be written. next chapter, hopefully.**

**so please, read & review. reviews feed my muse and make me not want to abandon this story! :]**

_Chapter Three - Past - October, 1998_

Daryl dislikes holidays, if only because they remind him of how overwhelmingly alone he is. Ever since his mom passed, the house trailer has been empty most of the time. His father is out every night, getting drunk, chasing women. He's been gone for a week now with some bartender from a local shit-hole, and while Daryl doesn't miss having to flinch out of the way of his alcohol-fueled anger - or the blows that follow when he tries to dodge the first - he does miss Merle, who has been doing a stint in juvie for the past month. Halloween is today, and as he gets himself ready for school, munching on stale Saltine crackers as he pulls a T-shirt from the line he's strung up in the bathroom, Daryl feels a sinking sensation. It's dread.

Holidays that during the school year always mean classroom parties, which mean parents. Mrs. Richardson had been ranting about it all week, sending home paper reminders that they need chaperones and volunteers, people to bring in soda and juice and candy and snacks. The parents that show up are always moms, always over-bearing and up in their kids' business. Moms with no lives outside of their children. Daryl doesn't understand what _thats_ about, but he also knows those moms are the ones that pay too much attention to _everything_. Like him.

He pulls out one of Merle's flannel shirts from his brother's closet, blue eyes flicking to the girly posters on the back of his closet door. A blonde with big boobs and tan skin and brown eyes that peer out at him, half-lidded, her cherry-red lips parted, is what Daryl always manages to stare at for a few long moments. Something in his stomach churns, and the sensation isn't unpleasant but Daryl doesn't like it because he can't decipher what it means. As he shrugs on the black and white checked shirt, covering the old, fading bruises and scratches on his arms, Daryl studies the familiar poster for a bit before shaking the fog out of his head. He slams the door shut and stomps out of Merle's bedroom and back into the living room. He snatches his ragged old backpack off the chair near the door and shoulders it.

He was only nine, but he was beginning to think that women were the root of all evil. All problems.

The bus is pulling up as he gets to the stop, and Daryl is glad that he hasn't missed it again. Had to walk all the way into town last week, having woken up late and alone sometime in mid-morning. He plunks himself down and hugs the window, pressing his knees into the back of the seat in front of him. No one will sit next to him; everyone knows better. Daryl doesn't know _why_ he dislikes people so much, but he's glad that they recognize the strong '_leave me the fuck alone_' vibes he's sending out. Maybe people aren't as stupid as he believes.

When he gets to school, Daryl remembers that it's Halloween because all of his classmates are dressed up in ridiculous and preposterous costumes. A group of girls are clumped near the double doors in front of the building, wearing bright colorful dresses, tiaras, fairy wings. Daryl ducks his head and ignores them as he enters the school.

Throughout the school day, his thoughts wander to Beth Greene. Ever since Valentine's Day last year, things have been different between them. Daryl wouldn't call her his _friend_, but she was definitely something similar to that. They aren't in the same class this year, but whenever she sees him in the hallways, the cafeteria, on the playground at recess, her smile is always brilliant, mega-watt, blinding. Sometimes, when they cross paths alone in the hallway - both on their way to the bathroom or the library or running an errand for a teacher, in Beth's case, because she's a teacher's pet like that - Beth will say, "Hi Daryl," in a sweet voice that makes his heart beat harder and his stomach churn, like that dirty poster in Merle's closet. Not the same intensity, but the same sensation.

He wonders what she's dressed up like for Halloween. If she's going to be trick-or-treating. Daryl will not be - he never went in his life, ever. Dad said it was shameful, sending kids out to bed strangers for candy. Every year he turned off the front light and didn't answer the knocks on the door when the neighborhood kids paraded about in the costumes. Daryl might have been upset about this when he was smaller, but now... It definitely wasn't something he felt he missed out on.

At almost the end of the day, Mrs. Richardson tells them to put away their books and get ready for the party. The moms have arrived, setting up a buffet of treats in the back of the classroom. One mother is taking endless pictures of her kid, Samantha, who is dressed up in a a short black dress and high heels. She pouts and holds up a peace sign at the camera... Daryl has no idea what she's supposed to be - but she's Beth's friend, the one from the playground in first grade, and Daryl goes out of his way to ignore her. She's annoying, _way_ worse than most of the girls he knows, and her high, giggley voice gets under Daryl's skin and makes him uneasy. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Samantha hugs her mom, and the woman bends down to press a kiss to her hair.

Blushing at their display, an uncomfortably lump lodging in his throat, Daryl turns his hard stare to the door. He's surprised when he finds Beth and three other girls standing there talking to Mrs. Richardson. They're dressed up as well, but he doesn't take notice of what the other girls are wearing - just _Beth_.

Her golden-blonde hair is pulled into two high pigtails, her smiling lips are shiny and pinker than normal. She's wearing a pink dress, super short, with knee-socks and sneakers with soles probably three inches thick. A sucker is poking out of the corner of her mouth, and her blue eyes are wide and sparkling with excitement. Daryl furrows his brow in confusion, trying to fathom what she's supposed to be... Why couldn't she be a princess, or a cheerleader, or a lady bug? Those were easy. She would be cute as any of them.

Daryl pretends not to notice as the gaggle of girls amble into the room, and Samantha squeals delightedly, detaching from her mother. The girls hug like they haven't seen each other in years, even though they were probably together at lunch and recess like everyone else. Daryl feels eyes on him and does his best to control the swell of irritation that washes over him. He suspects that it's Beth, and when he tilts his head slightly to the side, peeking through his lashes, he finds her sky-blue gaze on his form. Clenching his jaw, Daryl returns his focus to the Louis L'Amore book in his hands. The pages are crinkled from being fisted in his hands.

After everyone gets their fill of snacks and treats, Daryl pushes back from his desk and sidles to the line. His body is anxious, taut and tense, as he gazes at all of the treats laid out before him. He gets free-lunch every day at school, so he's not starving, but the cupboards at home are bare. Daryl's been surviving off of his free-lunch and crackers, cans of baked beans and corn. His dad needed to come home soon.

As Daryl snatches a cupcake from the table, he senses someone beside him. Glancing to his right, he finds Beth standing there with a big smile on her pretty face. He tries not to stare, but she's wearing make-up and close up, he can see the differences from her normal state. Her eyelashes are darker, thicker, longer - making her eyes appear even bigger than usual. A light blush warms her round cheeks.

"Hey," she says, her voice soft and light. "Happy Halloween, Daryl."

He gives her a half-smile and nod in response, and Beth smiles bigger as his eyes trace over her costume. "What're you s'posed to be?"

"Baby Spice!" Beth exclaims. She does a little spin before posing, hand on her cocked hip, the other hand flashing a peace sign in his face. Daryl's face is blank - he has no idea what Baby Space is, and the incredulous look on Beth's face makes him realize that it's _odd_ that he doesn't. "Ya know, Daryl - the Spice Girls? Girl Power?"

"Uh," he grunts, shaking his head. He shoves the cupcake in his mouth for something to do, hating the feeling of not knowing. It's not his fault he doesn't have cable. Beth smirks at him, cheeks puffed out with cake and frosting, and shakes her head. Her pigtails quiver and gleam under the bright flourescent lights in the classroom.

"They're a band. They're _awesome_," Beth adds. "Are you going trick or treating?"

"That's for babies," Daryl says, after he chokes down the dry vanilla cake. He swallows hard and reaches for one of the juice boxes on the table. Maybe he stabs the straw through the hole with a little too much force, making Hi-C Orange dribble out. He lifts his hand and sucks the moisture from the crux of his thumb and index finger, watching Beth with interested, unguarded eyes. She stomps her foot and shoots him an angry look.

"It is _not_! Maggie's going, and she's in seventh grade. And she's _not_ a baby." Beth's tone leaves no room for argument, and Daryl hides a little smile - he's realized that seeing her riled up is something he enjoys a lot. Her face flushes and her eyes narrow, but still manage to sparkle. She's prettiest when she's angry.

"Whatever you say, Baby Girl," Daryl says, holding his hands up.

"It's Baby _Spice_," Beth corrects, folding her arms over her chest with a huff.

"Whatever," Daryl says. He can't help but chuckle - Beth Greene is probably the only person in the whole school that wasn't afraid of him. Snapping at him, letting her anger show - even teachers try to hide their irritation with his sullen, aloof attitude. But not Beth. She's fierce and unafraid, and part of Daryl recognizes that she's the only one that doesn't treat him like a wounded animal, something that will lash out when poked. Beth rather _enjoys_ poking him, Daryl suspects. He enjoys letting her.

"Beth! C'mon, we're gonna take pictures!" Samantha calls. Beth gives Daryl an apologetic smile, and he nods towards her friends, wordlessly telling her to go on. Her small hand wraps around his wrist, squeezing softly through the old, worn flannel material of his brother's shirt, before she dashes off. Daryl stares down at his arm in surprise, feeling warmth and tingles even though she didn't touch his skin. For the rest of the day, as he rode the bus home from school, as he turned off the lights and ignored the trick-or-treaters that banged on his door, Daryl's thoughts remain on Beth. On his wrist.

The feeling in his stomach is back, making him uneasy and hot all at the same time. It's worse than looking at Merle's dirty girl poster, now.

_Present - May, 2014_

Beth woke to a warm body snuggled against her own and froze, just for the slightest of moments, panicked. Her first thought is _Daryl_, and even in her mind the name is gasped. But she shifts, inhales, and realizes that the scent is lavender, belongs to her sister, and the memories of the previous night wash over her like a bucket of ice-water dumped over her head. Inhaling sharply, Beth relaxes in her sister's arms, taking comfort from her limbs tangled together, the strong, steady heart-beat reassuring her that Maggie is safe, alive. After a few moments, her heart-rate slowing to a much healthier rhythm, Beth carefully unwinds herself from Maggie's sleep-heavy cuddles. Standing, Beth glances around.

It's still night time. Darkness envelopes the bedroom, and Beth yawns. Her eyes are sore, swollen from crying, and her cheeks feel raw from the salty tears that refused to cease. They had lost _another_ member of the family. Otis - Beth's breath hitches as the image of his kind, warm face flitters through her mind. She had fallen asleep to her sister's weak whimpers, Patricia's loud, unrestrained sobs from down the hall. The woman had lost her husband, her sweetheart, and Beth's heart is heavy as she thinks about those implications...

Even though she's unhappy with him, Beth is more than thankful that Daryl Dixon is alive and well on her father's farm. She's not the kind of person to wish anyone ill will, but especially not him. No matter how he hurt her, Daryl had also given her moments of extreme happiness, made her feel loved and beautiful... Sighing, Beth kneels on the window-seat and pushes aside the curtains. It is dark and still down below, everyone is tucked safely into their tents. Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, she wonders what he's doing down there. She wonders how he's feeling.

"Bethy? What're you doing?" She whips her head around, surprised to see Maggie sitting up in the bed, rubbing her eyes groggily.

"I just - couldn't sleep," Beth lies. She doesn't want to reveal she is looking for Daryl, because she didn't realize she _had_ been. However, the guilty blush on her cheeks and the way her eyes lingered on his tent, on the edge of the property, gives her away. Beth can make out Maggie patting the mattress beside her in the darkness of the bedroom, and the youngest Greene sighs but complies. Both girls lay on their backs, hip to hip, on the bed.

"Daddy says that Daryl Dixon is here," Maggie says. Beth can hear the gentle teasing in her voice, and rolls her eyes, huffs, in annoyance. "Don't act like that, Bethany Anne Greene. I know you like a book - your entire first album should have been called 'Dear Daryl, I Hate Yer Stinkin' Guts,' ya know." Both girls giggle helplessly.

"He's here," is all Beth says once the laughter subsides.

"And..? Did he speak to you? Did he _apologize_ for being such a dick?" Maggie presses. Beth feels her shift and suddenly feels fingertips running softly through her hair. She snuggles closer into her big sister's arm, taking immense comfort in the simple gesture. It's something their mother always did, before she got sick. Reminds Beth of being a little girl in her mother's loving embrace.

"I _might_ have fainted," Beth admits, and Maggie throws back her head, laughing out-right and loud.

"Such a drama queen, Bethy!" In the dark, the darker sister smiles fondly down at her younger, lighter counterpart.

"He put me into bed and when I came to, I kicked him out of my room. I didn't know _what_ to say - I still don't," Beth adds. She chews her full bottom lip thoughtfully, replaying the earlier events in her head quietly. The way the muscles in his arms bulged as he gripped the strap of his crossbow, the messy hair falling into his piercing blue eyes. She is insanely, stupidly attracted to him, _still_. She felt like an idiot.

"Well, I would start with, "You're a heartless asshole that stomped all over my heart. But thanks, because in the long run, I guess it all worked out." I mean - you _are_ the millionaire super-star singer now," Maggie points out.

"What does _that_ matter? With all the sickness and death surrounding us, I highly doubt a platinum record is going to impress Daryl." Beth suspects that even _before_ this fatal virus outbreak, he wouldn't be too thrilled. Material things have never been Daryl's interest - then again, growing up as he had... A sad smile plays over her lips as she imagines him at ten, a latchkey kid with ill-fitting, second-hand clothes and a shiner. Daryl never had a chance, as a kid - grown up, older and wiser, Beth's heart breaks just a little for him.

"They'll find a cure," Maggie says. "Things'll go back to normal, Bethy. They have to."

Sighing, Beth turns into her sister's side, hiding her face in Maggie's neck and winding her arm around her waist. She hasn't been in this position with anyone since _Daryl_, but the tangible warmth of Maggie, strong and solid and healthy beside her, comforts Beth more than she realizes. Feeling her eyelids grow heavy, she breathes in the familiar lavender smell of her sister's lotion, letting the soothing scent lull her into sleep.

"Tomorrow," Maggie whispers into her sister's blonde hair. "Tomorrow, things will make sense." She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to take her away.

* * *

**so what did you think? how was it? I couldn't resist throwing in the Spice Girls, maybe I'm old but that was the best shit in the world to me in fourth grade! haha. I hope you enjoyed, please let me know! **


	5. Chapter 4

**Last Chance**

**by: FrankieLouWho**

**rating: M**

**disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profits from this little bit of fiction. All recognizable characters belong to AMC and Kirkman and those guys. I'm just borrowing them, promise.**

**notes: hey guys! here is another lovely chapter for you. the muse has returned with a vengence and I'm so happy about it. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it has all of the much-needed, highly anticipated Daryl we've been missing. and a bit of Beth and Daryl interaction towards the end... let me know what you think! please review :) it keeps me writing faster and that is never a bad thing.**

**without further ado, enjoy!**

_Chapter Four - Present - May, 2014_

Daryl had crashed the night before, falling onto his sleeping roll. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. It doesn't surprise him - he's been awake for a few days, watching out for the group, looking for Sophia. There is too much going on to allow himself a moment of rest, a moment of reprieve. Plus, Daryl knows that if he gives himself such a moment, the thoughts that he's barely keeping at bay will invade his mind and he's not willing to go there yet. In his dreams, he sees Beth's face and wide, big blue eyes as a walker takes a bite out of her perfect little calf muscle. He's running towards her, in some kind of sunny, peaceful field, and her small hands reach out towards him, grasping at air. He wakes a few times in the night, grumbling her name over and over. Finally, sometime before dawn, he gives up on trying to get more sleep. The dreams are worse than his body feels.

Sitting up in his little tent, Daryl pulls his knees up and hands his arms on them. His tongue feels like sandpaper and there is a dull throbbing in the base of his skull. Another tension headache. He can't remember a time when his entire body didn't ache and protest when he first wakes up. Perhaps when he was a kid.

The dark sky outside alerts him to the fact that it's not yet time for the others to get up. Daryl knows that someone is out on top of the RV, watching the fence and long driveway for any kind of commotion. He's glad that Hershel agreed to let them keep the shotty up there. He knows the man, decently well considering their past. Hershel Greene was a good man, a reasonable man. His request for them to hand over their weapons was only intended to keep them safe, not leave them vulnerable or weak. Daryl knew that Shane and Andrea were quite sore about the whole thing - but they could kick rocks, for all he cared.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, feeling the stubble growing on his face and chin, Daryl decides he might as well get a start on his day. No way he can fall back asleep with those nightmares, vivid and intense, waking him up every few hours. No way he can sit in the darkened tent, letting his brain work itself into a frenzy. Had more important things to worry about than _Beth fucking Greene_ and what she was doing, thinking. What she might be wearing. _Or not wearing_... He smirks ruefully before catching himself, and the look drops from his face into a deep scowl. She doesn't want him here - that much was clear when she woke up from her little princess-fainting thing yesterday. She's always been fragile, dainty, like a porcelain doll, to Daryl. He'd always felt the urge to protect her, take care of her... The fainting thing was just ammo for his arsenol.

He didn't know what to do _now_. It was obvious she didn't want him around, and Daryl isn't sure he can function properly around her without doing what he's always done, slipping into that silent guardian role. He's done it for so long, his whole life it feels like. When she left, he hadn't known what to do with himself. Hard not to call her or text her every minute of the day. Hard especially for him to know that she was off in the big city, where any number of things could be hurting her - thugs, wild dogs, creepy fraternity guys, over-aggressive lesbians (though that last one had also turned into a strange mastubatory fantasy that he still favored) - and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. But Daryl had grown used to it, using her Myspace account - then later her Facebook - to keep track of her goings on. Part of him felt like a creep, keeping tabs on her - but a much louder, much stronger part of him was simply relieved to see that she was alive, that she was doing well.

She looked beautiful. Yesterday evening, after he'd slipped her onto the bed - damn girl weighed no more than a buck-ten, buck-twenty at the most - she had looked so small and so devestatingly pretty that it hurt his chest. Same long, wild blonde curls, pale skin dusted with freckles from being out in the sun... When those sky-blue eyes had blinked open, finding him beside her, the instant look of bewilderment - followed quickly by a mixture of emotinos that flitted so fast across her delicate features that Daryl couldn't name each of them - had taken his breath away. It was strange to see her, live in the flesh, when he grew used to seeing her picture all the time. On the computer, in magazines, in music videos on television... Daryl would never admit to how much shitty music he sat through at three AM, drunk as a skunk but hoping to see her pretty face and hear that light, pretty voice that haunted his dreams... Only drunk could he stand it. Especially the video where she kissed some other guy.

"Fuck," Daryl mutters, realizing he's been sitting in the same spot for much longer than he intended. He grabs a clean, sleeveless T-shirt and switches into it quickly. The jeans can go another day, he decides. Tugging on his boots, he grabs up the Horton and tugs open the zipper of his tent. Slinging the crossbow strap over his shoulder, Daryl stands and stretches. It's a little chilly in the pre-dawn hours, and goosebumps ripple over his skin. He rakes a hand through his short, messy brown hair, careless of the musssed state. He takes a moment to gather his bearings, glancing towards the little cluster of tents a few yards down from him. He wonders if any of the Atlanta group notices or cares that he's set his tent away from them, prefering his own space and privacy to the safety of their little group. Part of him is torn between loyalty to the survivors he's made it this far with and the family who owns the land that they're staying on.

He's loyal to one person here above anyone else, even himself - _Beth_. Daryl hisses out a long breath, just thinking of her name.

The sky is just beginning to lighten as he makes his way towards the house. If memory serves, Hershel Greene will already be awake and puttering around his kitchen, making coffee and getting ready for the day. The farmer/veternarian has always been an early riser, and Daryl remembers nights spent hidden up in Beth's bedroom, both of them desperate for kisses and touching each other, hurried and frantic - Daryl would try to leave before Hershel rose around four-thirty, though sometimes there were close calls. Smiling in spite of himself, he trudges up the yard towards the big white farmhouse.

He wants to speak to Hershel - wants to see if he can offer any help, thank him for letting them stay, for taking care of Carl. Kid is a little shit, getting into things he has no business with, but he's a good kid. Plucky, curious. Gives his mama a headache, but Daryl thinks that's just little boys in general. His boots make dull thuds on the porch floorboards, and he hesitates at the front door, deciding if he should knock or not. Fortunately, he front door is cracked open a hair, and Daryl opens the screen and pokes his head in. There is soft lighting coming from the kitchen, and he glances around - feeling for all the world like an intruder - before shuffling inside.

Daryl can't get over all of the memories that instantly invade him. He pushes the thoughts out of his mind, taking a deep breath to focus on the task at hand. He's no there to get sentimental and sappy. That's not him. Quietly, he makes his way into the kitchen and is relieved to find the white-haired farmer fixing himself a mug of coffee.

"Mr. Greene," Daryl says stiffly. Hershel glances over his shoulder, and a surprised smile lights up his lined, tired face. He's clean-shaven, the receding hairline Daryl recalls from his younger years has crept over the top of his head, leaving it bald with a neat ring of white around his ears. The dark eyes are twinkling, even in the early morning hour, and Daryl can tell that his grin is genuine, pleased.

"Daryl Dixon!" Hershel crosses the kitchen and pulls Daryl into a surprisingly fierce hug, and he has to duck his head as a blush creeps up his cheeks and ears. Hershel had never said anything negative to Daryl in the past, but he can't help but feel relieved that the man isn't chasing him off the property with a shot-gun. That _is_ customary of farmers towards their daughter's boyfriends... But Hershel instead is studying Daryl from head to toe, offering a cup of coffe (which he gratefully accepts) and asking how he came to meet the group of survivors taking up residence in his front yard.

The two men sit down at the dining room table in the next room, Hershel bringing his lantern along with him. The steaming coffee is a luxury to Daryl, and he gulps it down groggily, feeling the effects quickly after so long without.

"Seem like a decent group of people," Hershel is saying, and Daryl nods his head in agreement. "Not so sure about that Shane, but there's bound to be a rotten apple in every batch. How did you meet them?"

"Merle an' me, we were coming back from a hunting trip," Daryl explains. "Got caught up in the traffic jam of everybody leavin' the city. Atlanta was a nightmare." He grimaces, remembering the fire-bombing, the screams, the walkers. "We were camped outside of the city, waiting for someone to come and rescue us... The National Guard, the Army. Whatever. After a few days, I sorta realized nobody was comin' for us."

Hershel's expression was one of shock, worry. "They bombed the city?" he asked in a hushed, solemn tone. Daryl nodded.

"I was huntin' meat, but we'd send groups into the city to scavenge for things - ammo, water, whatever we could get our hands on and carry back. They ran into Rick one day - he'd just woken up from a coma. Had no idea what was going on, but Glenn got him and... Well - Officer Friendly decided to handcuff Merle to some fuc - some _pipe_ on a rooftop. T-Dog lost the key." He's still upset about this, still mad that he's lost his brother. In the same moment, he's relieved that Merle isn't here. Daryl had tried to keep his relationship with Beth as far from his brother's eyes and ears as possible - it was that protective urge he had for her. He knew his brother would just _love_ the petite little blonde and her easy to induce blush. He would probably horrify her.

"That's savage," Hershel says, shaking his head. "Merle and I might not be the best of friends, but no one needs to go that way. I'm sorry, son." The sympathy and sadness in Hershel's eyes does not make Daryl uncomfortable or angry. Perhaps because he knows the kind of man Hershel Greene is, or because he respects him so much, but Daryl isn't offended at the compassion he's being shown. Usually, it would make him want to knock the offender's lights out - but not with him, not with this family. Felt like they could do no wrong to him - _that_ was somewhat annoying, but he couldn't deny it.

"We went back for 'im. Cut off his damn hand - just found that and the handcuffs still on the pipe and bunch of blood. Went down to find him in the building he was in, but all we found was a burner goin' -"

"He cauterized it himself?" Hershel asked. His disbelief was mingled with a bit of respect. He knew full well how painful that would be, especially to do to oneself. "You Dixons have always been tough. I can't say that I'm surprised you've survived this long..."

"It's not pretty out there," Daryl says, unsure of how to take the compliment. "The walkers are everywhere. We went to the CDC - met some cracked-out scientist. We barely made it out of there alive."

Something flashes in Hershel's eyes, and he leans towards Daryl intently. "What did they say? Did they have a cure?"

Uneasily, Daryl leans back in his chair and studies the man in front of him. Hershel Greene had always been kind to him, had never judged him for coming from nothing, for having a piece of shit father and being raised the way he was. He may not have always _liked_ him - Daryl knew that was asking a lot of a man when it came to who his teenaged daughter spent her time with, and what they did in that time, and his suspicions that were mostly founded. But Hershel had always been respectful, polite, and a lot of the time, he was friendly. Hershel had been an enigma to Daryl - a recovering alcoholic that gave up the drink for the sake of his family, because he loved them so much. His own father had never been able to do that, probably had never considered it. Hershel was a good Christian man, a southern gentlemen with good morals and good values and all of those important things. But he was also something that Daryl had never understood. _Hopeful_. It is written plainly all over his lined, wary face. He still believes that there is something out there to stop all of this. That there is an end in sight, and things will go back to normal.

"No," Daryl says, shaking his head slowly. "No cure. 'Cept to get the brain - that's the only way to kill them."

Hershel's face drops immediately, and he looks decades older in the warm lantern light. He gazes down at his lap, hiding his expression, and Daryl shifts uncomfortably. If the man starts crying, it'll be too much for him to bear. But then Hershel surprises him, as he often did, and he glances up to Daryl with a half-smile that is tinged with sadness.

"Soon," Hershel says, and sighs. "There will be a cure, soon. These sick people - we don't kill them, Daryl. How can we?"

"They'll kill you. _Eat_ you. Turn you into one of them!" Daryl exclaims. His fingers clench tightly around the empty mug he was drinking from. "You kill or be killed, and then kill someone else. You have to kill them, Hershel."

"We don't kill them. Not here." The old farmer shakes his head firmly. "I won't allow it. You and your people want to stay here on the property, these are the rules. We..." Hershel trails off, and Daryl hears the familiar sound of someone coming down the stairway. His eyes flick to the open archway between the hall and the dining room, and his chest constricts when Beth steps into the room. She's wearing shorts and a tank-top, obviously having just risen from bed. She is a glorious sight, pale and golden and rosy-cheeked, her hair tumbling out of a ponytail and her long legs bared to his hungry gaze. Daryl sucks in a deep, much-needed breath as she stands awkwardly in front of them.

"Mornin', Bethy," Hershel says, smiling fondly at his youngest child. She smiles weakly, and Daryl can see how puffy her eyes are. He remembers then that they lost Otis last night - an old family friend, one that Daryl had met on a few occasions. Instantly, his stomach drops with dread and sadness. Beth must be hurting. He hates that he can't do anything for her.

Her gaze shifts from her father to Daryl, and he tries not to duck his gaze as she looks at him. Wishes he could take a shower and shave, even though it's the end of the world and he's never been a vain person. Beth always inspires the strangest reactions in him.

"Is there more coffee?" she asks. Her voice is husky, gravelly, like she's been crying all night. Daryl is on his feet before he registers what he's doing, and realizes that he was jumping up to comfort her, to hug her. But he can't, so instead he just turns awkwardly on his heel and hurries into the kitchen. He grabs a mug from the cupboard, glad they haven't rearranged the kitchen since he was last there. He grabs the mug and the pot of coffee and goes back into the dining room. He sets the mug down at the empty seat between Hershel and himself, pours some coffee in. Daryl realizes that both of the Greenes are watching him, and his ears burn but it would be more awkward if he stopped now. Instead, he tops off Hershel's mug and then fills his own before disappearing back into the kitchen to set the pot on the burner.

Taking a deep breath, Daryl tries to steady himself. He's acting like June fucking Cleaver - but it's the only thing he can do for her, that she'll let him do. He's still trying to take care of her in whatever capacity he can. Even if it means just getting coffee for her. He's being stupid, acting ridiculous - but seeing Beth and knowing that she's hurting and not being able to touch her, hold her, tell her that everything will be ok, promise to take care of her, tell her that he still loves her... He's gonna go insane if he doesn't do _something_. Anything.

_Stop being an asshole_. _Don't stare at her. Don't be a dick._ Daryl takes a deep breath and re-enters the dining room, slouching down in his seat. Beth gazes at him over the rim of her mug, blue eyes wary. Hershel is grinning like a cheshire cat at the both of them, dark eyes knowing and amused.

"I just wanted to thank you," Daryl says, cutting into the heavy silence that settles around them. The sky outside is beginning to turn orange-pink as the sun makes it's slow ascent. "For lettin' us stay here. You need anything, just ask - we'll pull our weight."

Hersehl nods his head. "I don't know those people - Rick and his family seem like good folks, the rest too. But if anything happens, I want you to know, Daryl. You're always welcome here... If they decide to move on, you can stay here. I'm sure we could use your wilderness skills. Be good to have some muscle around here, too. I'm an old man now," he says, chuckling good-naturedly.

"You aren't _old_, Daddy," Beth objects. She pulls her knees up to her chest, balancing her coffee mug on her knee. "We've got Jimmy, too."

"Like I said," Hershel says, quirking an eyebrow at the little blonde. "It'll be good to have some muscle around here." Daryl can't help the snort of laughter, even though he's annoyed that Jimmy Sullivan is here. Who else could she be talking about? The world is obviously much smaller than any of them suspected, and it would be just his luck that the only guy that Beth had shown an interest in other than himself, back in their high school days, would be here. Jimmy isn't a bad guy - at least, he hadn't been when they were kids - but knowing the other guy likes _his_ girl makes his blood boil and his pulse beat just a little bit harder.

"I'm happy to help. I need to get out in the woods today - one our kids went missing two days ago. Gotta find her." Daryl hears Beth's sharp gasp, and his eyes are drawn like magnets to her face. Brows furrow in concern, her mouth in a tight line. He can read the fear and worry in her stormy gaze. Perhaps Hershel can see it too.

"You should take Bethy with you," the white-haired farmer says. "She's knows all the woods around here like the back of her hand. Could be helpful to have a fresh pair of eyes with you." If Daryl didn't know better, he would suspect that Hersehl was trying to push them off together. Playing matchmaker. Didn't he realize there was more serious things to worry about? As much as Daryl wants Beth again, he knows that his personal feelings come second to survival.

"Oh, I'd just get in the way," Beth says quickly, lowering her gaze to her pale knees and blushing.

Daryl feels a twitch of annoyance at her quick denial. "Nah - big celebrity like Beth doesn't need to be runnin' 'round in the woods gettin' her nails dirty." He smirks at her, recieving a fierce glare in return. "Yeh'd jus' slow me down, anyway."

"Are you forgetting that I'm like, a _million_ times faster than you?" Beth asks, eyebrows raising in challenge. "I'm not afraid of getting dirty." Her defiance and anger make her beautiful, and Daryl is struck by the flashing of her eyes and determined set of her jaw. She has always been like this, since she was a kid. He remembers her stubborn streak vividly - fondly.

"It's settled then," Hershel says, clapping his hands together with finality. "After we get Otis' service out of the way, you two can head out together." It's obvious that he's pleased with himself, and Daryl can't help but half-grin at the old farmer. Maybe he isn't the only one hoping to rekindle what he and Beth shared as teenagers. Maybe he has someone in his corner, this time.

Beth opens her mouth to protest and then snaps it shut. She isn't quite _glaring_ at her father so much as turning red and narrowing her eyes. "Fine," she says, standing slowly. Her hand curls around the coffee mug, the other crossing her under her chest and her hand hooking into the crux of her elbow. The smirk is wiped from Daryl's face when he notices that her nipples are hard, pressing against the thin fabric of her tank-top. His mouth goes dry and his dick twitches against his fly. He shifts uncomfortably, and when Beth gives him a wry smile, he realizes she did it on purpose. She's always been a dirty fighter... "I'm gonna get dressed, get Maggie and Patricia up. Later, Dixon."

He can't tear his eyes from her long legs and ass as she saunters out of the room. Daryl licks his lips slowly, entranced, until she disappears. Turning his gaze to Hershel, finding the old man watching him with a big, toothy grin, he feels the tips of his ears heat up and gazes suddenly at the floor as though it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"Give her time, son," Hershel says. His tone is amused and his eyes twinkle cheerfully. "It's good to see that in all of this hell, somethings haven't changed at all." Daryl agrees with a slight nod, finishes off his coffee in one last gulp. "Gonna have to dig a grave. Out by the big willow tree."

"I'll do it," Daryl volunteers. Anything to work off the sudden frustration and excess energy in his body. "Shovel and stuff still in the barn?"

"No," Hershel says, too quickly. It makes Daryl suspicious, but he doesn't press as the man continues. "Out in the stable. We don't use the barn anymore; at least, not for those things." Hershel rubs his fingers over his lips, looking thoughtful and serious suddenly. Daryl wonders what could be running through his mind, but the veternarian quickly changes the subject. "I need to check on my patient. You come and get me when you're finished."

"Will do," Daryl says. Both man stand, and Hershel offers his hand. Without hesitation, Daryl shakes it.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, son," the farmer says. Daryl nods, too uncomfortable with the show of affection or fondness to form words. Instead, he squeezes Hershel's hand a final time and ducks his head, hurrying through the kitchen, depositing his mug in the sink, and pushing through the back door. Once outside, he takes a deep gulp of fresh air and realizes he's going to spend his day digging a grave and searching for a lost girl. At least he would have Beth at his side for part of it - the thought alone warms him, and he smiles to himself as he trudges across the dewy grass. It's enough, for now.

**Thanks for all of the favorites, follows, and reviews. The outpouring of love and support I've recieved for this story blows my mind, and I'm working hard to make sure it's the best it can be for you guys. Personally, it's my happy place - working on my original fiction is turning out to be very frustrating and difficult. Coming back to LC has been really good for me. I'm hoping that I'll be able to update a bit more regularly - the muse has returned and she is demanding that I get this story going and finish it. I have it all planned out - just need to get it all out of my mind! **

**Please review and tell me what you think. How do you think Daryl will react when he discovers what's in the barn? How do you think Beth and Daryl will do together out in the woods looking for Sophia? I'm sure it's going to be a fun and interesting time... :) Let me know what you think! Find me on tumblr - idreamoffrankie ! **


	6. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five - Past - March, 2002_

Middle school changes everything. Beth feels lost and small in comparison to her girlfriends, most of which have shot up a few inches and outwards, as well. Sam had grown breasts, and one night when the two are sleeping over at Sam's house, they stand in her bathroom and take off their shirts, comparing the small mounds on each other their chests. Sam's are _huge_, or so it seems to twelve year old Beth - her own breasts are just little puffy lumps on her chest, her pink nipples little as well.

"Don't worry," Sam tells her. "Just drink _lots _of milk and sleep with a bra on. That way, your boobs will point up to Jesus. He'll make them grow faster." Beth doesn't tell Sam that she doesn't think that's how it works, but she still goes to bed wearing her uncomfortable training bra in hopes that maybe _she's_ wrong. It can't hurt to try.

Other than their changing bodies, theres so much else going on. The girls get into spats every day, usually around lunch, over the silliest things. Whether or not Joey Simpson was really looking at Jessica in science, or Sam getting mad because Chloe wore the same shirt as her that day. Most of the time, it's resolved as quickly as it started, but it makes Beth intensely paranoid and anxious that all of her moves are wrong and that someone will get upset with her. She hates fighting, hates the funny feeling in her belly whenever one of her girlfriends starts to tell her gossip or complaining about another girl. She can't stand the anticipation when someone says, "We need to talk." It makes her want to throw up.

The classwork is harder, but Beth enjoys it. She likes learning, she doesn't mind the homework, and she doesn't feel embarrassed when her name is at the top of the papers teacher's post with grades listed. She's at the head of her class, with straight A's, and the reliability of homework and tests and studying steadies her through the murky waters of middle school. It's the only thing that hasn't changed - that, and Daryl Dixon.

He's gotten taller, his shoulders seeming to widen and his muscles getting bigger. They don't talk at all anymore, not that they did much before, but Beth misses the little moments in the hallways when they were younger. Sometimes, they'll catch each other's gaze in the crowded cafeteria, or in the library. Beth always smiles at him, big and cheerful, and Daryl usually blushes and ducks his head. But he smiles, too, when he thinks she won't see. Beth finds herself seeking out those piercing blue eyes, the ones that remind of her blue-raspberry slushees and sometimes, swimming pools. Secretly, she thinks he's the best looking person in their whole school. The other girls all seem to agree.

"He's like Angel, from Buffy," Jessica says one day in the cafeteria when they're eating lunch. Beth is mid-chew of her peanut butter and jelly sandwhich when Jess says this, and her eyes snap up in surprise. She didn't realize that anyone else paid him that much attention - but the collective sigh of her table-mates reveals that she's not alone in her Daryl Dixon obsession. Even Sam giggles and blushes as they talk about him.

"He's kind of mean," Chloe points out.

"He's the strong, silent type," Jessica says.

"Have you _seen_ his lips? I could kiss him for hours." Sam sighs wistfully.

Beth's head is spinning at all of their comments. She's surprised and irrationally angry; her cheeks are flushed pink and she realizes she's smushed her sandwhich, clenching it so hard in her little hands. She drops the PB&J, losing her appetite as she listens to her friends. For some reason, hearing them talk about him makes her _furious _- they don't even know him! Beth realizes that the negative thoughts swirling in her brain are a result of _jealousy_, and she feels herself slouch in her seat. She's jealous of them for liking Daryl Dixon.

It doesn't make sense - she shouldn't care. It's not like Daryl is her boyfriend, or even her friend, really. But the idea of him paying any of those girls attention, ducking his head and blushing when _they_ look at him, makes her want to punch something hard. Beth isn't a violent person, so the urge is startling. She realizes that she wants to kiss Daryl for hours, that she wants him to only pay attention to her, to only like her, and it makes her feel... Strange. Hot, tingly. Frowning, Beth wonders idly if perhaps she's getting sick.

"What do you think, Beth?" Sam asks her, realizing the little blonde hasn't contributed to the conversation. Remembering a few afternoons prior, when everyone was picking on her because she suggested playing Barbies at one of the upcoming slumber parties, Beth scrambles in her brain for the right kind of reply. If she says she _doesn't_ like him, everyone will tease her again and call her a baby. But if she does admit that she likes him, out loud and in front of everyone, Beth knows that someone could tell him and she would simply die of embarrassment if that happens. She wants him to like her, but she doesn't want him to know that she might like him. All of these new feelings are driving her mad - Beth knows that it's just puberty, hormones, because that's what her mother always says when she gets flustered and angry. Deciding to play it cool, Beth sniffs and lifts her chin.

"He's all right... But he's no Joey Simpson," she says. It's the right response, because the other girls immediately begin to gush about the blonde-haired, blue-eyed baseball player. She smiles, pleased with herself, and turns her gaze back to the rest of the cafeteria. Without realizing it, she's seeking out Daryl's gaze - a quiet gasp leaves her throat when she finds those piercing blue eyes on her. For the first time, Beth doesn't smile as their eyes lock. She's too focused on keeping her breathing even, her features schooled into a calm mask.

For the first time, it's Daryl that smiles at her. And she's the one that ducks her head, feeling her face heat up unbearably.

_Present - May, 2014_

Beth feels duped as she stomps up the stairs to her bedroom. Maggie is still snoring on her bed when she barges into her bedroom, but she doesn't bother to wake her sister yet. Instead, she grabs a clean set of clothes out of her dresser, mindlessly slamming the drawers and huffing under her breath. She locks herself in the bathroom off her room, drops the pile of clothes on the closed toilet lid, and grabs the edge of the sink. Beth stares at her reflection as she takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm her pounding heart. She's mad and off-balance, feeling like the world is being ripped out from under her feet - _again_.

What is her father thinking? Is he trying to play matchmaker? Beth knows that he always liked Daryl, which was quite a surprise when they were kids. The first time he showed up at the farmhouse, picking Beth up to take her to a party _as friends_, which she had vehemently told her parents, Daryl was almost seventeen, wearing holey jeans and a faded old Def Leopard T-shirt. He looked like bad news, like trouble, and incredibly handsome with his short, messy dark hair and full, chapped lips. Hershel had taken one look at him and it was clear from his expression that he wasn't one-hundred-percent thrilled with the guy taking his daughter out for the evening. But he did not stop them.

Maybe her father had known then that the two were meant to be together. Beth shakes her head - they were not meant to be. They had been kids, in lust, and that was it. He broke her heart, but it was necessary. Without that pain, she would never have gotten to the point in her career that she was now. Not that it mattered, of course - it was the end of the world. Who knew how long it would be until they developed a cure and got things back to normal? Beth had a sinking suspicion that perhaps the answer was _never_. Things would never go back to how they were before this infection took over everything, destroyed people and families and the whole freaking world. Sadness settles in her heart, and Beth is embarrassed at the tears that suddenly sting her eyes. Shaking herself, she begins to strip out of her pajamas and into the clean outfit she has picked out.

After slipping into the clean shorts and T-shirt, Beth yanks her hair out of the elastic and pulls her brush through the tangled golden curls. She could use a shower, but now isn't the time. There's too much to do. She needs to wake up Maggie and Patricia and figure out what they're going to do for Otis' service. The irritation she feels about her father and Daryl just moments ago turns to a cold chill. How can she be so selfish to worry about what's going on with herself and Daryl when _that_ had happened? Ashamed of herself, Beth gazes at her reflection as tears begin to spill from her eyelids.

_Its not fair. None of this is fair._ She's crying for a multitude of reasons, feeling weak and broken. Her heart hasn't hurt like this since she was eighteen and Daryl had dumped her. With trembling hands, she covers her face and breathes, letting the tears flow. There's no use trying to stop them now.

It only takes a few minutes, but Beth composes herself and finishes plaiting her hair. By the time she leaves the bathroom, it's hard to tell that she has even been crying. She clears her throat as she approaches the bed where her sister is sleeping. Maggie looks peaceful, and for a moment Beth just stares at her. Then she leans forward and gently shakes her shoulder.

"Maggie, gotta get up," she says, and the darker Greene daughter yawns into her fist, rolling onto her back and stretching. Sitting up slowly, Maggie blinks her eyes groggily and takes in Beth's appearance.

"What time is it? Have I been sleepin' all morning?" Maggie asks, starting up and out of the bed quickly. She glances around frantically as though she's missed something, like she's late - Beth smiles softly and shakes her head.

"No, don't worry. Wake Patricia up - I'm gonna go down and get some eggs out of the coup for breakfast." Maggie visible relaxes, nodding to herself as she trudges out of Beth's bedroom and down the hallway to where Patricia and Otis slept. Beth feels a pang, imagining how hard it would be to go to bed knowing your husband would never sleep with you there again. Chewing her lip, Beth heads outside, mulling over the grief Patricia must be feeling. She couldn't imagine losing someone she'd loved and been with so long.

It's already warm outside when Beth slips out the kitchen door. The little band of survivors camped out in the front yard are rustling around, making their own breakfast over the campfire. Beth tries not to stare as she heads to the chicken coup, but curiousity gets the better of her. She's been staring at the tents for a few days now, and she's curious about the occupants.

She can make out a big black guy, talking to a shorter guy with a baseball cap. There's a woman huddled in a lawn chair near the fire, poking it with a long stick. An older guy in a fishing hat is on top of the old RV, and Beth can make out a gun propped on his lap. She picks up her pace when she sees them turn her way, and shifts her gaze - it's a knee-jerk reaction, borrowed from her previous life. In a world where everyone knows your name, Beth is well-practiced in giving off the 'too-busy' vibe. Strangers still had come up to her on the street, asking for pictures and autographs. She was happy to oblige... when it wasn't seven AM on a Monday morning, and she was wheeling the trash can to the curb. Sometimes, Beth forgot that she was some kind of celebrity - a platinum album selling artist - and that there were millions of people out there that knew who she was. Just because the world ended, she realizes that people will still know her. For some reason, her cheeks heat up as she thinks about this.

When she finally reaches the chicken coop, Beth hooks the gate shut behind her and absently goes about her work. She's been feeding the chickens and grabbing eggs out of the hen house since she could walk, and the routine is soothing. She puts the little brown eggs into the cradle of her shirt after tossing out feed and chattering to the little birds. Back inside the kitchen, Maggie and Patricia are working silently, frying up potatoes and peppers, onions. It smells delicious and Beth's tummy growls loudly when it hits her nostrils.

"What are we gonna do with them?" Maggie asks, cocking her head towards the kitchen window. Indicating the new folks. Patricia looks lost in thought as she stands in front of the gas-stove, wooden spatula in hand - her eyes are vacant. Beth frowns in worry but answers her sister.

"You should talk to them," she says. "See if we can do anything - I'm going out with Daryl today. Little girl went missing, Daddy said I should help..." Beth trails off as she catches the confused look on Maggie's face.

"Daryl? As in..?"

"Yeah. Daryl Dixon," Beth says. The smile on her face is rueful. Maggie blinks a few times, and she knows what that means - her older sister isn't shy about doling out her wisdom. Beth cuts her off before she can say anything. "I know, I know. I'm over him - you don't have to worry. We're just gonna go out in the woods, track her. Make sure she ain't just wanderin' around lost or something."

"You, and Daryl Dixon. Alone in the woods. C'mon, Beth," Maggie says. She gives Beth a disbelieving look, hands on her hips. "The one guy you've been in love with since you were what, twelve?"

"I don't have feelings for him anymore," Beth insists. Shaking her head, she begins to drop the eggs into a bowl on the counter beside Patricia, who makes room in the big skillet for her to break them into. "I mean, it's been forever - I'm sure he all but forgot about me. And _I've_ forgotten about him. Completely."

"Right," Maggie says sarcastically. "Whatever you say, Bethy."

"Even I don't believe you, sweetie," Patricia pipes up, making both of the Greene sisters soften. "You and that boy were like peas and carrots, Beth. Love like that - it doesn't just _end_." Beth can tell she's talking about herself and Otis, not her and Daryl - but she drops the subject as she focuses on finishing breakfast. She doesn't want to argue about it anymore.

Around noon, Daryl finds himself waiting on the front porch. Rick has been inside with Carl and Lori all morning, save for when the dark-haired woman came outside to help with breakfast. Apparently Rick's been giving a lot of his blood, and he's weak - keeping him inside will be hard, but they all know he needs the rest. And to be with his kid. No one complains when Daryl says he's going out to look for Sophia, but no one volunteers to help, either. Glenn and Maggie are going on a run into town, to get medicine for Hershel. Shane is content to order everyone around, pretending that he's still in charge. The guy isn't the same as he was when they first left Atlanta - since Rick got there. Daryl realizes how involved he is into the affairs of their little band of misfits and stops his line of thinking - last thing he needs is to actually get attached to these people.

Beth is a pleasant distraction when she bangs through the screen door. She looks flustered - her cheeks are rosy, and he can tell by the redness rimming her pretty blue eyes that she's been crying. After he finished digging Otis' grave, they laid the man to rest. Patricia begged Shane to say some words, tell them what happened to them when they were at the high school getting supplies. Shane's story didn't settle with him, and Daryl had to walk away before he finished telling his bullshit story. Otis was a good man, but he wasn't a hero - he wouldn't have given up to make sure some stranger got back to the farm. He would have died fighting.

It had been even harder, seeing Patricia, Maggie, Beth, and Hershel eat up the words. Daryl wondered idly where Annette was - then thought the better of it. Hopefully, she had passed before this mess happened. Hopefully, Shawn was away at college still, was surviving off on his own with his own friends. If he was, he would make it home eventually. He wasn't going to ask, as sleeping dogs were better left alone and all. Didn't want to stir anything up, not so soon after Otis' death and Carl's brush with it.

"Sorry," Beth apologizes as she skids to a halt in front of him. "Patricia was real upset, and I was just makin' sure she's doin' all right. Ya ready?"

Daryl nods, wordlessly, and pushes off the railing. He tries not to notice how damn good her legs look in those little jean shorts, but it's impossible. Long, shapely, light gold - he wants to wrap them around his waist, feel her weight in his hands and her heat pressed against the front of him. It's been too damn long since he's touched her. Today is a particularly brutal brand of torture - Hershel was trying to kill him.

Tearing his gaze away, Daryl starts towards the tree-line. They hop the fence, Daryl stopping to give Beth a hand over. When their skin touches, her palm small and warm and a little clammy against his own, his gut clenches and his dick twitches. He feels like a teenager all over again, aroused and ready to bust at any moment. Maybe it's just Beth, and his natural reaction to her. Ever since puberty, he's felt this way around her.

They walk together in silence for what seems like an eternity. He thinks of things to say, but just as quickly realizes how dumb it all sounds. _How are you? What've you been up to, other than making millions of dollars and living your dreams? Do you think of me? I miss you._ Instead of saying anything, Daryl just walks, mindful of holding back branches for her and the deliberate, quiet footsteps behind him. He remembers when they were younger, before anything romantic had happened between him, when they were just friends and he was so in love with her that waking up every morning, Daryl had a shit-eating grin on his face and the worst cases of morning wood of his life. She made breathing, living, just existing okay. Daryl had taken her in the woods with him once, wanting to show her the little creek where all the frogs and snapping turtles lived. She had loved it - Daryl knew then she was special. Not just any girl would let him drag her out into the thick, dangerous, dirty woods, where there were animals and scary insects, and enjoy it. But Beth did, because Beth was the only woman in the world for him.

Daryl was nearly one hundred percent confident about that.

Beth was the one that broke the silence. "What happened? How'd she get lost?" The question threw him off for a second, and guilt filled his stomach as he retold the events.

"There was a herd passin' through. Ya'll seen one of those yet?" Beth shakes her head _no_, and he goes on. "Ain't never seen anything like that. Musta been two hundred or more of 'em, just walkin' in the same direction. Had to hide under cars and wait it out. Sophia - she musta freaked out 'r somehting. Got a couple walkers on her trail and she took off. Rick caught up to her, told her to wait while he drew 'em off, 'cause he didn't have a weapon on him. She ended up bolting. Train went cold." He shrugged finally, glancing over his shoulder. Beth's sky-blue eyes were wide and watching him intently.

"Walkers?" she asks finally, raising her eyebrows.

"The dead. Them _things_ tryin' to eat us," Daryl clarifies, sarcasm coloring his tone.

"They aren't dead, Daryl," Beth says. "They're _sick_. They don't know what they're doing." She's stopped, her hands balled into fists on her hips. The fierce look on her face and the defiant stance do nothing to calm him down - Daryl has always found Beth to be extremely pretty when she was pissed off.

"Hate to break it to ya, baby girl," he says, falling into the old nickname without even realizing it. Beth stiffens visibly but Daryl just pressed on, "They might be sick and they might not know what they're doin'... But they're _dead_. Ain't no gettin' 'round that." He turns and continues on the path they're taking, pulling his crossbow over his shoulder and holding it at the ready in front of them. He won't let any harm come to the tiny, beautiful blonde. Over his dead body...

He doesn't see the tears welling in Beth's eyes. Daryl misses the worried, frightened look that crosses her face as she jogs to keep up with him.

**So, we got a little flashback! I'm trying to get this story moving along, hopefully I'm doing an ok job with it. I feel like there is so much going on, it's hard to keep track of everything. I'm doing my best to keep all of the storylines - Otis and Shane, Sophia, Carl getting shot, Lori getting pregnant, Maggie and Glenn hooking up, the walkers in the barn - PLUS Daryl and Beth's relationship. It's a lot to keep track of without writing 20 pages for each chapter, and I'm trying to get to a place where Beth and Daryl can have some smutty goodness. I'm in dire need of writing it! **

**How do you think Beth and Daryl's little jaunt into the woods will go? Do you think they will find Sophia, or will Daryl get sick of waiting and throw Beth up against a tree? How did everyone like the newest episode? I'm dying about this ship nearly being canon... I never thought we would come this far! Thanks for all of the reviews and love. It makes my day and it makes me write faster. Thank you, thank you! Love you all!**


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